


Comfort Food

by NestingHedwig_aka_LinW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Reality, Cooking, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Minor Character Death, Out of Character, minor profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW/pseuds/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of condemnation by fickle witches and wizards, Severus and Harry join the Muggle Farm-to-Fork movement.</p>
<p>Written for the Odd Jobs Fall Fest (2015) at Snape-Potter.</p>
<p>Disclaimer" This story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended; no monetary gain will be made from this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food

**Comfort Food**  
_"You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces -_  
just good food from fresh ingredients."  
\- Julia Child (1912 - 2004) 

~*~*~*~  
**In the days that followed the downfall of Lord Voldemort:**  
~*~*~*~  
Severus sank back against the pillows of his hospital bed prison in St. Mungo's Hospital for Wizarding Maladies and, once again, counted the swaying orange poppies in the charmed painting on the wall to his left. At intermittent intervals, a plump honeybee would enter into the frame, buzz around the flowers collecting pollen, and then merrily buzz out of sight. He knew that the St. Mungo's Mindhealers considered the floral image to be soothing for patients, but, after nine days, the false cheerfulness of the display made Severus want to gnaw off his ankle restraint. 

No one was more surprised that he was still alive than he was. After his death due to Nagini's vicious attack, a quick thinking Hogwarts house-elf shocked him back to life, placed his dying body into stasis, and whisked him to the Hogwarts Infirmary, where he was Apparated to St. Mungo's. Healers, anti-venom, and his own inherent magic were now slowly purging the toxins from his system. With his loyalties in question, a string of Ministry Aurors guarded the door to his room, pending his trial before the Wizengamot.

His long fingers ghosted over the thick rope of irritated scar tissue decorating his neck and shoulder, a macabre souvenir from Nagini's attempt to tear out his throat. Although horrific looking, the scars were merely cosmetic, the serpent's fangs having missed his larynx and jugular vein.

His health still too fragile to attend the opening remarks of his own war trial, he was waiting for his Ministry-appointed legal counsel to arrive to introduce himself and to discuss defense strategies. Severus had provided, to a court-appointed neutral party, Pensieve memories of his activities during both reigns of Thomas Marvolo Riddle aka The Dark Lord Voldemort, but was unable to provide much of a list of associates willing to act as character witnesses. Killing Albus Dumbledore, no matter the reason, left him little to no hope of support from Hogwarts staff, former associates, and past or present students. The dark wizard resigned himself to life in Azkaban or a Dementor's Kiss, based solely upon the name of the inept lawyer he was assigned.

A special trial edition of _The Daily Prophet_ lay at his side. Apparently Harry _Effing_ Potter had testified for the defense at both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy's war trials. Severus' Slytherin sensibilities did not understand what gain Potter hoped to achieve by defending such obvious pariahs. The only thing that made any sense, as far as he was concerned, was that Potter was honoring a life debt owed to one of the Malfoys.

He heard the brusque voice of his current Auror guard just before the door to his room opened. Adrian Pucey entered, closing the door firmly behind him. 

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," the former Slytherin addressed his old head of house. "Happy to see you are recovering."

Severus arched his eyebrow. Adrian was an up and coming junior partner in his father's law firm, Pucey, Clearwater and Smith, Wizarding Britain's leading legal group. No way would the Ministry assign him counsel from such a prestigious law firm, and with his assets frozen, he'd been unable to hire counsel on his own. His Ministry appointed counsel of record wasn't even proficient enough to scrape the bottom of the barrel. 

"Not that it isn't a pleasure to see you, Mr. Pucey, but why are you here?"

"Pucey, Clearwater and Smith have taken over your defense. I am here to review your case."

"What happened to Basil Lockhart? He was my counsel of record."

"Counselor Lockhart arrived at the Ministry of Magic this morning thoroughly inebriated and combative." Adrian settled into the visitor's chair, placing his satchel and what appeared to be a portable Pensieve beside his feet. "Father just happened to be in court on another matter, and voiced his displeasure at Lockhart's utter lack of professionalism. After pretty much forcing the panel of judges to suspend Lockhart, father volunteered PCS to take you on as a client. Pro bono, of course."

Of course, Severus thought, silently wondering what Alexander Pucey's magnanimous offer would cost him in the end. At least the partners at PCS were known to be neutral, having supported neither side in the past conflict. 

"Please thank him for me." Severus' tone was even, revealing nothing of the turmoil building beneath his mask.

"Slytherins take care of their own," he replied simply, and reached down for the Pensieve.

~*~*~*~  
Harry set aside his Transfiguration textbook and his notes. He had decided against returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete an education sidelined by his Horcrux hunt and the destruction of Voldemort, because the school now held too many ghosts for him. He was currently in the process of independent study with the intention to take his NEWTS when the Ministry next offered them.

He stood up, arching his back to alleviate the stiffness, and looked around the Black Library. He had multiple baskets of correspondence that needed to be addressed soon, but his attention was drawn to the small bundle tucked into the heirloom cradle Kreacher charmed to rock gently. After an especially fussy feeding, his godson had finally been lulled to sleep. Harry smiled when he saw the tufts of dark blond hair had acquired turquoise tips, a sign that Teddy was content.

His friends thought that he was being an overprotective godfather, but with 12 Grimmauld Place still overrun with vermin and dark artifacts, Harry never let the infant out of his sight. The long neglected Black townhouse would take months to clear the years of debris and infestation, and Kreacher stubbornly refused to let anyone help him. He needed to prove to himself that he was a good house-elf and nothing Harry said made a bit of difference to the ancient elf.

Having put it off long enough, Harry finally unwrapped the package he had received from a surly Gringotts postal owl earlier that day. Enclosed was a breakdown of the contents of every Potter and Black vault down to the very last Knut and teaspoon. Beside each vault total was the list of reparations the goblins were demanding.

Being a warrior race, the Gringotts goblins were willing to concede the destruction of the Horcrux residing within Hufflepuff's Cup was necessary to assure final victory against the Dark Lord and his minions; however, they were less than pleased that Harry, Hermione and Ron had practically looted the Lestrange vault to acquire it. Wizards had essentially robbed Gringotts Bank, an act of war under normal circumstances, but the Goblin Nation was willing to overlook that, for a "small" fee. The Head Goblin, Ragnok, acknowledged that during warfare, it was often more effective "to seek forgiveness than ask permission," but goblin forgiveness would come at a price. 

Several goblins lost their lives when the trio escaped the bank by freeing the blind dragon, and the goblins placed all the blame squarely on the shoulders of _The Chosen One_. Harry would pay 25,000 Galleons to the family of each dead goblin and 5,000 Galleons to the family of each injured goblin. The structure of the bank had also been severely compromised, but the Goblin Nation decided that since Harry was acting on the behalf of witches and wizards, a percentage of the cost of the repairs would be deducted from the vaults of each and every witch and wizard in Britain.

And that was why Harry now had baskets filled with correspondence littering both the Black library and the parlor. While several letters gave thanks for the sacrifices made by a few or expressed condolences for his loss, countless others were just spiteful, and even a few more bore vicious curses. Harry was weary of being a sacrificial lamb for the fickle wizarding public and had little patience for their alternating praise or condemnation of his actions. He had fulfilled a prophecy that had basically destroyed his life, and it still wasn't enough for them. He had come to the realization that nothing he did would ever be enough.

Harry looked up from his Gringotts correspondence as the wards on the Black townhouse seemed to vibrate. Teddy whimpered in his sleep and the turquoise in his hair faded away. Something wasn't right.

"Kreacher," Harry called, but the house-elf did not appear.

The wards settled themselves moments later, but Harry remained cautious. Something felt off.

The quiet of the library was broken as a large postal owl flew into the room, a red envelope in its talons. It was followed by an onslaught of screeching owls, several also carrying Howlers. Postal owls were supposed to wait in the foyer of the townhouse until Kreacher relieved them of their messages. The owls should not have been able to pass the postal ward set by the elderly house-elf. What had caused the ward to fail?

"Kreacher!" Harry shouted. The house-elf did not appear. Teddy let out a wail as the Howlers began to explode. 

What the hell was going on? Harry plucked Teddy from his cradle and bolted from the library, shutting the door firmly behind him, trapping many of the owls. Harry gently rubbed Teddy's back to calm him while he walked down the hall, looking for the missing Kreacher. 

"Kreacher! Where are you?"

A glint of gold caught the corner of his eye. The young man stopped to stare at the wall of mounted house-elf heads. His knees buckled, and he sank to the carpet. At the end of the row of heads, there was a new house-elf head, Regulus' gold locket hanging from its neck.

"Oh, fuck..."

The sentient magic of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had awarded Kreacher his greatest wish. The loyal house-elf had joined his ancestors.

~*~*~*~  
Severus sat frozen between Adrian and Alexander, his father, in Ministry Courtroom 10 as the members of the Wizengamot filed out of the courtroom. He heard the dull drone of voices as the audience began to empty the seats. He could feel his heart beating wildly, his pulse racing as the shock of the verdict and penalties hit home.

Severus had been exonerated of guilt in Albus Dumbledore's death, due to the extenuating circumstances revealed in the Pensieve memories he had given to Harry Potter at his apparent deathbed in the Shrieking Shack. The green-eyed menace had also given an impassioned plea for leniency during his trial. The potions master's own Pensieve memories and extensive questioning under Veratiserum regarding his role as a spy caused many of the other charges to be dropped as well. 

But his Death Eater past, and the onerous tasks he had performed while controlled by the Dark Mark, could not and would not be totally swept away due to prevailing Ministry politics and the fear of backlash by the blood thirsty Wizarding public.

Severus was now a free wizard, and his Gringotts Wizarding Bank vault was no longer sealed. However, the Wizengamot rescinded his teaching certifications and suspended both his Potions and Defense Masteries. For the next ten years, Britain's Premier Potions Master was forbidden to brew potions for public consumption or publish any research findings in accredited potions journals, and he was being forced to resign as an active member of the International Potions Guild. He was not permitted to leave British soil and the Ministry Aurors would visit him, without warning, at any time in the next ten years to make certain he was following the rules of his probation.

Severus felt as if his heart had been torn out. He had lived and breathed potions for as long as he could remember. Without his masteries and, with that, no real employment prospects, he may as well as have been condemned to ten years in Azkaban.

"I am so sorry, Professor." Adrian handed him a package, retrieved from the bailiff, containing his personal possessions. "Do you want us to file an appeal?"

"Would it do any good?" Severus asked, and neither counselor met his gaze. He removed his wand holster from the package and fastened it around his forearm. He tucked his wand into the holster, and smoothed his sleeve over the bulge. "I am grateful for my freedom, such as it is. No matter how you spin it, I still murdered their beloved hero and the public must have their pound of flesh."

Flanked by the Puceys, Severus slowly made his way toward the only open exit. Between the recovery of his injuries and the stress of the trial, he was exhausted. He was not looking forward to facing the world beyond the door and the very real threats of reprisal that would meet him there.

Severus tried to hide the tremors in his limbs as he and his legal team approached the doorway. A wizard blocked the exit, palms out to show he held no wand or weapon. The censured potions master recognized the wizard as Harry Potter.

"Counselor Pucey," Harry addressed the senior partner. "Is there a back exit from this courtroom?"

Severus was about to make a scathing comment about big-headed Potter and his adoring fan club, but something in the younger man's body language kept him silent. Adrian peered beyond the open doorway.

"Merlin," he murmured.

"I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that this is our only path. The other door leads to holding cells and an Apparation portal for Azkaban transport." Alexander replied. "How congested is it, Adrian?"

"It's wall to wall, Father. And the journalists and photographers are full force as well. There is only one Auror I can see from here. He'll be useless if they rush us."

"Can we Apparate or Portkey?" Harry asked, and Severus wondered vaguely where the "we" came from.

"You can only Apparate directly from the Minister of Magic's office or directly in front of the lifts in the Atrium."

"How about from inside the lift?"

"In theory, yes, but the risk of splinching within a moving space is rather high," Severus stated, curious about the small smile at the corner of Harry's mouth. "What's going on in that pointed little head?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, Professor." Harry stepped closer to the older man. "Take my arm."

"I most certainly will..."

"Severus Snape, you are the bravest and most stubborn man I have ever known." Harry brusquely cut him off. "YOU can barely keep yourself on your feet, and YOU will not show weakness to that mob out there. Take my arm and let me support you. We will walk through that gauntlet together."

~*~*~*~  
In the moments between the lift coming to a complete stop and the doors opening on to the Atrium level, Severus found himself side-along Apparated out of the Ministry of Magic. He had always disliked the sensation of being compressed through a straw and found that being the passenger made the sensation even worse. He stumbled on the landing and only Harry's surprisingly strong grip kept him upright.

It was all Severus could do to keep his nausea in control. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, focusing on the overgrown kitchen garden they had landed in. A mass of Devil's Snare in a dark corner told him he was at a magical residence.

"I don't recall agreeing to accompany you, Potter," Severus barked, but his exhaustion took much of the bite out of his statement. "Where have you taken me?"

"You're welcome, Professor," Harry replied mildly. "We're in the gardens of Grimmauld Place. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea?" 

~*~*~*~  
Severus jolted awake. He was sitting in a leather wing chair in the parlor at 12 Grimmauld. A heavy silk paisley coverlet slid off his shoulders. It was unlike him to drop his guard in such a manner. How long had he been asleep?

Had the tea been drugged? He reached for his half-filled teacup and sniffed the liquid suspiciously. It smelled like Earl Grey. Cautiously, he placed a drop of the cold liquid on the tip of his tongue. The tea had not been tampered with. He shook his head. He was being foolish. Harry Potter was too much a Gryffindor to resort to such tactics. 

Severus was alone in the parlor. It seemed to be somewhat brighter and cleaner than when the mutt had lived there. He stood up, draping the coverlet over the back of the chair. His attention was drawn to several baskets on a side table, overflowing with letters and scrolls. Curiosity piqued, he plucked a letter from one of the smaller baskets.

_"Dear Mr. Potter,  
Thank you so much for saving us from You-Know-Who..."_

Fan Mail, Severus thought derisively. As if Potter's head wasn't puffed up enough. He read several other notes from the same basket - all filled with glowing phrases - guaranteed to inflate an already inflated head.

A second small basket contained marriage proposals, some with photographs included. Severus examined a moving image of a scantily clad witch who had to be in her sixties. The full frontal nude image of a fit wizard made his jaw drop. What was the matter with these people?

Deciding the baskets had been sorted according to subject matter, the dark wizard pulled several scrolls from the largest basket.

_"...must be turning in her grave that the new Lord Black is a half-blood...how dare you defend Death Eater scum...destruction of Gringotts should be your responsibility alone...what were you thinking...half-breeds should be drowned at birth...defending fucking Malfoy...check to make sure you aren't a new dark lord..."_

So perhaps not all fan mail, he thought as he glanced into the last basket. It was filled with the charred remains of Howlers. 

And sadly, Severus thought, Harry's defense of Dumbledore's murderer would surely add to the baskets filled with accusations and vitriol. He now understood Harry's use of "we" in the courtroom earlier that day. In many ways the young wizard was an even larger target than Severus was.

~*~*~*~  
Harry set the whole boiled chicken onto a platter to shred once it cooled. He carefully poured the contents of the heavy stock pot into a strainer placed above a second pot, separating the limp vegetables and herbs from the chicken broth. He would skim off the fat once the broth cooled.

He knew Severus was watching him from the doorway, but he did not acknowledge it. Harry waited to see how long it would take the man to decide whether he would enter the kitchen or fade away.

Harry measured flour into a mound on the clean marble work surface. He made a well in the center of the flour. Into a small bowl, he separated three eggs, setting the whites aside. To the bowl with the three egg yolks, he added a whole egg and a measured spoonful of salt. After whisking the egg mixture, he poured it in the well of the flour. Using his hands, he mixed the egg and flour, adding water a spoonful at a time until the dough formed a soft ball. Sprinkling flour onto the work surface, he began to knead it until it was smooth and elastic.

"My mother always used butter and milk in her egg noodle dough," Severus commented and stepped into the kitchen. Harry covered the ball of dough with a tea towel to let it rest.

"I'll have to try that sometime." Harry washed his hands in the sink.

"I apologize for falling asleep. That was rude of me."

"Nonsense," Harry replied. "You've experienced quite a bit of mental and physical trauma these past few weeks. It could take months to get back to normal."

A postal owl swept into the kitchen, a red envelope in its beak. With what looked to be an experienced movement, Harry tossed the owl a treat, causing the bird to drop the Howler to catch it. Before the envelope could spew more than a word or two, he set it afire with the flick if his wand. A second flick gathered up the charred remains into a neat pile.

"Not the owl's fault," he muttered.

"I saw all those baskets full of letters in the parlor. Whyever are you keeping them? They are foul."

"There are more in the library, as well. Less than a quarter of them say anything nice at all, and that number includes the dubious marriage proposals. I plan to respond to the letters of condolence, but the majority of them just reinforce my decision to take an open-ended sabbatical from Wizarding Britain once I complete my NEWTS next month." 

Harry cleaned off the work surface and then lightly dusted it in flour. He began rolling out the egg noodle dough. "Do you like your egg noodles thick or thin?"

"Pardon me?"

"You're invited to dinner." Harry bit his lower lip. "You're also invited to stay if you don't have anywhere else to go. There's only three of us here and the house is huge."

"I seriously doubt Granger and Weasley would appreciate my presence."

"Ron and Hermione don't live here. In fact, they're in Australia retrieving her parents. I live here with Teddy, my godson, and Mimsey, his nanny elf."

~*~*~*~  
"Your chicken noodle soup is delicious, Mr. Potter," Severus said, patting his lips with a napkin. "Just the right balance of seasonings."

"Thank you. You could call me Harry, you know," he replied. "I've always considered chicken noodle soup to be my ultimate comfort food. What's yours?"

Comfort food. Severus thought of his mother's kitchen in their row house at Spinner's End. He mulled over the dinners he had eaten as a child, before his mother became too ill to cook, and smiled.

"I've always been rather fond of my mother's meat pies. She made the best rabbit pie..."

~*~*~*~  
**Three years later**  
~*~*~*~  
Harry ran his fingers down the sides of a long red carrot, dislodging bits of damp soil, before dropping it into the basket at his feet, alongside other multi-hued carrots. The basket contents were an explosion of color - red, purple, yellow, and orange. Until he started gardening in earnest, he hadn't realized carrots came is so many varieties. He had even planted black, blue, and white carrots the previous summer, but patrons declared the black and blue vegetables to be visually unappealing, and the white variety lacked the desired sweetness.

Carrots collected, he pulled the crumpled list from his shirt pocket to see what next needed to be harvested for that day's menu. Tucking the side of the flat-bottomed, rectangular basket against his hip, Harry made his way through the rows of his magically expanded urban garden, stopping beside a long trellis heavy with plump green pea pods. He would need to plant additional peas soon to keep to his staggered harvesting schedule.

Sidestepping a plump red hen foraging for insects, Harry smiled as he watched three-and-a-half-year-old Teddy scatter several other chickens in a one-sided game of tag. His godson's giggles were infectious.

Shaking his head, he thought back on Severus' original plan to raise chickens for both eggs and meat. That plan had been dashed the moment Teddy was old enough to decide the hens made marvelous playmates, and then proceeded to _name_ them. They were now the proud owners of six _pet_ chickens - Sunnie, Fluffie, Cloudie, Snowie, Moonie, and Freddie. Granted, Teddy had probably been calling the red hen Reddie, but with his baby lisp, it had sounded like Fweddie, and there was no way Harry was going to eat a chicken named after Remus or Fred. Their fresh eggs took some of the sting out of it for Severus, though.

After adding the shallots, onions and garlic collected from the small drying shed attached to a currently empty greenhouse, Harry stacked the harvest basket on top of a second basket filled with leafy heads of mixed salad greens, multi-colored peppers and tomatoes. Calling for Teddy, he carried the baskets through the garden gate, locking it securely behind the little boy. He didn't mind the chickens having free range through his garden, but he didn't want to risk them being hit by a passing automobile if they escaped. Making certain Teddy was following, he walked through the smaller herb garden to the back entrance of the large Victorian house he and Severus had converted into a restaurant three years earlier. Muggles could only see the herb gardens; the vegetable garden hidden behind the fence was primarily wizard space.

_Eileen's Kitchen_ was part of the Muggle farm-to-fork culinary movement, featuring locally grown ingredients, where possible. It was a modest venture, with an indoor seating capacity of sixteen, swelling to an added twelve seats with the addition of three outdoor four-tops when the weather permitted. Open only on weekdays during lunch and dinner, they also featured a brisk take-away trade for the surrounding businesses. 

Just inside the back door, and out of view of any stray Muggles, Mimsey was waiting to take Teddy upstairs to their flat so that the two men could work unhindered by the excitable child. The kitchen was just too dangerous a place for him to play in. 

Harry deposited the baskets beside a deep farm sink. After he washed and sorted the vegetables for the day, he would either help prepare them or run errands. He could see Severus in the kitchen, sitting on a stool, with a mug of tea and a pile of paperwork.

"We're near the end of the asparagus," Harry called. "Probably need to ring up Moria or Sebastian to see if they have any to trade before I go to the butcher."

~*~*~*~  
Severus jointed three skinned rabbits and placed them in a pot of water to soak for an hour to whiten the flesh. While the rabbit soaked, he diced up the bacon he would render down to sauté the shallots, carrots and celery in, as well as to brown the rabbit pieces. He was initially surprised at how well his mother's recipe for rabbit pie had been received by their diners. Severus had, of course, replaced the tinned dried rosemary and bay leaves Eileen used with herbs fresh from Harry's gardens, added a few more vegetables to the stock, and used a higher quality dry cider, but overall the changes he made to a childhood comfort food were minor. He still followed his mother's handwritten notes to make his short crust pastry.

On a second cutting board, he prepared the vegetables for the vegetable quiche of the day, which would feature the last of Harry's homegrown asparagus. He still missed his days of brewing his potions, but, as he finely diced garlic cloves, cooking was not a bad temporary substitution.

Severus paused to answer the telephone. He tucked the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he continued to chop.

"Sev, it's me," Harry's voice was nearly lost in the background noises of the main thoroughfare behind him. "I'm at the bakery for the baguettes. Do you need me to pick up a loaf or two of day-old to make croutons?"

~*~*~*~  
Harry stirred the carrots, onion, celery, potatoes, garlic, and mushrooms he was sautéing in a heavy bottomed pot, checking on the softness of the vegetables. Once he had determined that they had browned enough, he added water, roughly chopped parsley, whole bay leaves, and black peppercorns. He looked over his shoulder before adding a little salt and left the mixture to boil. Severus' vegetable stock recipe actually called for the addition of soy sauce rather than the salt, but Harry refused to use the commercially prepared condiment in his garden fresh stock. He felt the chemicals contained in the soy sauce defied his concept of "farm" fresh. It was a point of mild disagreement in their shared kitchen.

"You are merely my gardener, Mr. Potter," Harry repeated the familiar argument under his breath. "What makes you think you know anything about the delicate art of brew...cooking?"

Harry looked up to check on Teddy. The little boy was sitting at one of the tables in the small dining room carefully coloring in a Muggle coloring book featuring friendly dinosaurs. His little pink tongue peeked out as he tried to color within the lines. His hair was currently an electric blue, nearly matching the hue of the crayon in his hand.

Turning his attention back to making the soup of the day, Harry lowered the stock to simmer for three-quarters of an hour. He filled a large bowl with water and set it beside his cutting board. He thinly sliced a pile of leeks, placing the slices into the water, and gently agitated them. Leeks were notorious for the grit in their layers, so he left them soaking to release the dirt particles. 

Before he could gather the remaining ingredients for the potato leek soup, he heard a sharp rap on the front door. Wiping his hands on a towel, Harry walked through the dining room and into the foyer of the old house. 

Who could that be, he wondered. The restaurant wouldn't open for business for another two hours and deliveries were usually made at the back entrance. There was a louder series of raps on the door. Whoever they were, they were impatient. 

Subconsciously, Harry flicked his wrist holster, releasing his wand into his hand. The young wizard paused, shook his head, and slid the wand back into place. He was in the Muggle world and should have no need to use a wand.

Harry let out a breath as he recognized the two men at the door, awkward in their ill-fitting black Muggle suits. The Ministry Aurors were making one of their unannounced probationary home visits. As usual, their timing was poor, but at least they hadn't arrived during the lunch or dinner rush.

Roger Davies was Severus' primary probationary officer. Fresh out of the Auror Academy, he'd had Severus as one of his first clients. Thorough in his investigations, the former Ravenclaw was always polite, respectful, and fair. Harry usually felt comfortable inviting the wizard into _Eileen's Kitchen._

The second Auror did not give Harry the same sense of comfort. Zacharias Smith's suit carried a pin identifying him as a Provisionary Auror, the Muggle equivalent of a trainee. As a fellow student in Hogwarts, Smith had been a brusque, opinionated pain in Harry's arse. He could only hope intensive training at the Auror Academy had mellowed the most unfriendly of former Hufflepuffs.

"Good morning, Harry...err...Mr. Potter," Roger smiled. "Were here to see Professor Snape."

"He's not a professor anymore," Zacharias hissed.

"Auror Davies, Smith," Harry returned the greeting, casually dropping Zacharias' professional designation. "I am afraid Severus isn't here at the moment. Please come in and have a cup of tea while you wait."

"When do you expect him to return?" Roger inquired at the same time Zacharias demanded, "What do you mean, he isn't here?"

So the Auror Academy hadn't softened many edges, Harry thought. He held open the door for the officers to enter.

"Sev's running errands. He had to stop at the bank and the market. He should be returning at any time."

Harry went back to preparing the potato leek soup as the Aurors sat in the dining room sipping tea. He could not make out the words of their hushed conversation, but it was obvious that Roger was taking Zacharias to task for his unprofessional attitude. 

Harry texted Severus, warning of the unwelcome visitors from his mobile, before checking on the bubbling chicken and vegetable mixture destined for that day's meat pies. 

He felt Teddy's arms wrap around his thigh and bent down to pick him up. His godson knew he wasn't allowed in the kitchen while the burners were on, but the strange men in the dining room frightened him. The happy blue hair had changed into a black-tipped red, a sure sign of his discontent.

"What the hell is going on with that kid's hair?"

Even without turning around, Harry could imagine Roger was mentally banging his forehead on the table top.

~*~*~*~  
Severus easily fell back into his "dungeon bat" persona as he ran Zacharias through his paces, making him identify each and every herb, fruit, and vegetable in Harry's gardens, proving to the suspicious Auror trainee that he was not growing contraband B- or C-Level potion ingredients on the premises. The only plants that could possibly be classified as A-Level potion ingredients were also the same common herbs used in the kitchen.

The dark wizard watched the Aurors search the living quarters of the Victorian house from top to bottom looking for contraband. Roger was neat and methodical, as usual, but Zacharias seemed to be channeling Attila the Hun. Mimsey's magic was vibrating in alarm as her spotless home was upended and Teddy was sobbing in fright. Severus picked up the small boy and slowly rocked him, humming a lullaby his mother used to sing. Teddy calmed down and began to suck his thumb, something that would have not been permitted under normal circumstances.

Zacharias noted the unexpected signs of affection and wondered who the little boy belonged to. The child did not seem to resemble Severus or Harry. Who knew the "greasy git" possessed a heart?

As they searched the room used as an office and library, Zacharias questioned the presence of current issues of potions magazines and quarterlies, but Roger reminded him that while Severus was not allowed to submit articles to the publications, nothing in his probation stated that he could not possess the publications. Zacharias picked up that month's bulletin from The International Potions Guild - an organization Severus was not permitted active membership with for ten years; Roger noted that the address label bore the name Harry Potter, not Severus Snape, and that they couldn't prove whether he was reading Harry's mail or not. 

While Zacharias ransacked the bedrooms, searching for who knew what, Severus kept glancing at the clock. The restaurant would open its door in less than an hour. Harry must be going mad trying to complete the entire menu by himself; the younger man always cooked the Muggle way, having never learned to cook using magic. Severus finally sent a frazzled Mimsey down to help his partner finish the menu items for the luncheon crowd. 

Hopefully a few strategically cast _Reparo_ charms would set much of the damage to rights once the two wizards completed their home visit.

Roger stopped his trainee from dismembering one of Teddy's plushies, and cast Severus an apologetic look. Thankfully Teddy had fallen asleep on the wizard's shoulder, and had not witnessed the unwarranted attack on his precious stuffed friends.

"Enough, Smith," Roger said, brusquely. He regretted the devastation left in the wake of Zacharias' overly enthusiastic search, but the Aurors' unwritten code prevented him from undermining his partner's authority in front of the client. He would caution the probationary officer in private so this did not happen again. "We have discovered no contraband. There are only a few more questions we need to ask you, Professor, and we'll be out of your hair."

~*~*~*~  
"So, what do you think?" Roger asked as he and Zacharias sat at one of the outdoor tables on the porch of _Eileen's Kitchen_ , reviewing their notes.

"I think that there's something very odd about this set up."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, for one...why are Potter and Snape living together? They hate one another!"

"They are a bit of an odd couple, aren't they?" Roger smiled. "You have to keep in mind that the roles they once played have long been discarded."

"And?"

"These men are not exactly what your past history with them would make you expect. You will find that they are very much alike."

Zacharias looked at him in doubtfully. Roger had attended Hogwarts, too. What was he missing? 

"How so?"

"They are both half-bloods, raised in abusive homes by Muggles who resented their magic."

"So why are they living like Muggles now, then?"

"The magical world did them no favors. They were both used as cannon fodder by two powerful wizards." Roger gave his trainee an appraising look. "Never make the mistake of believing Albus Dumbledore was a paragon of the Light. He could very easily have become a Dark Lord. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was a pawn to his "Greater Good." He raised both of those men to be pigs for slaughter."

"But..."

"When we get back to the Ministry, I'll give you access to some restricted files...will make you realize how close we came to losing it all...So, what else do you find odd?"

"Well, the restaurant, for example." Zacharias gestured to the chalkboard listing the menu for the day located next to the open front door. "There are only six items on that menu and there are no prices listed. They are not open on the weekend, have restricted hours on the days they are open, and have only a handful of tables. You can't run a successful business with such limitations."

Roger watched a trio of Muggle business women pause to read the signboard before stepping into the foyer, joining a short queue of customers. A man exited the restaurant carrying a box containing a number of food containers. 

He walked over to read the chalkboard.

_Today's Menu_

_Potato Leek Soup* - with a garnish of crème fraîche and chives_  
(A garnish of bacon and cheddar cheese is available upon request)  
~~~  
Chicken Noodle Soup - with homemade egg noodles  
~~~  
Roasted Ratatouille Tart - with goat cheese and mint*  
~~~  
Chicken Pot Pie - just like your grandmum used to make  
~~~  
Garden Fresh Salad - made to order  
~~~  
Eileen's Raspberry Trifle 

_*Indicates vegetarian selections_

Roger's stomach rumbled; the chicken potpie smelled delicious. He walked back to sit across from his partner. It was unfortunate they were here in an official capacity, as it would be inappropriate for them to order food from Harry and Severus so soon after completing their inspection. 

"You don't really think it matters to Harry whether _Eileen's Kitchen_ makes a profit or not, do you?"

Zacharias blinked. "Potter's vaults were hit pretty hard by the Gringotts reparations, but he is Lord to both House Potter and House Black...so he's not destitute."

Perhaps Smith wasn't a complete lost cause, Roger thought.

"Review Professor Snape's probation restrictions and then tell me why you think they run a restaurant and tend a garden."

"He can't brew and he can't teach...but cooking and gardening will keep his skills sharp."

"Very good. Do you think he still brews?"

"We didn't find any evidence of a potions workroom here. Didn't find a single cauldron or stirring rod...and that's damn strange. He's brewing somewhere else, isn't he?" Zacharias paused at Roger's smirk. "And you've always known that. You actually like the greasy git, don't you?"

"I don't actually know if he's brewing, and I don't especially care if he is. Snape is a brilliant potions master and his talents are being wasted making meat pies. We both know this probation is political bullshite." Roger gave his trainee a look that could melt lead. "And if you tell anyone I said that, you can kiss the Auror Corps goodbye."

"I'm famished. Do we have time to stop at _The Leaky Cauldron_? I could kill for some bangers and mash right about now." Zacharias might be opinionated and unsociable, but he was no fool.

~*~*~*~  
"Are they still on the porch?" Harry asked as he moved behind Severus, who was cutting a freshly baked ratatouille tart into serving pieces. 

"No, they left a while ago."

"What the hell happened upstairs during their inspection? Mimsey was a basket case when she came down here. I thought she was going to set herself on fire."

"Let's just say Mr. Smith was overly zealous in his search for contraband."

"Then it's a good thing we keep all the contraband at Grimmauld, isn't it?"

"Idiot," Severus smirked as he packaged two tart slices for take-away.

~*~*~*~  
Harry stirred the carrots, onion, celery, potatoes, garlic, and mushrooms he was sautéing in a heavy bottomed pot. He moved the pot off the heat to prevent over-browning while he went to the sink to fill several pitchers with water to add to the vegetable mixture. When he returned to the burner, he saw Severus standing there, holding a bottle of blackish liquid.

" I am not putting soy sauce in my vegetable stock, Sev. You know how I feel about it."

"You are merely my gardener, Mr. Potter." 

"I think after three years I ought to at least rate as your sous chef." Harry poured the water into the stock pot and returned it to the heat, adding the black peppercorns, parsley and bay leaves. "And I'm not putting that chemical crap in my stock."

"There is no chemical...crap...in this soy sauce. I ran into Mr. Zhang in the market, and he mentioned that he brews his own soy sauce for his restaurant. He gave me a bottle to try. If we like it, we can order more from him." Severus opened the bottle and waved it beneath Harry's nose. "Soybeans, wheat flour, salt, water."

Harry looked at him suspiciously.

"No Hydrolyzed Soy Protein?"

"No."

"Potassium Sorbate?"

"No."

"Sodium Benzoate?"

"No."

"Carmel coloring? Corn Syrup?"

"Nothing but soybeans, wheat flour, salt, and water."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, but if any of our regulars have a soy allergy, we go back to making it my way, all right?"

Severus placed the bottle on the countertop and walked away. He would take his small victories where he could get them.

~*~*~*~  
**A month later**  
~*~*~*~  
Severus looked up from his Sunday morning newspaper. A rare owl flew through the library window. After years away from the magical public eye, the threatening letters and the Howlers had finally vanished. The heavy cream envelope bore the name of the Pucey, Clearwater and Smith law firm. He stared at the envelope for a few minutes before breaking the seal. He owed Alexander Pucey a long-overdue debt, and for over three years he had been waiting for the man to claim it.

He read Alexander's official request, written in the usual long-winded legal drivel, and set the letter aside, rubbing his temples at the sudden headache that exploded behind his eyes.

"Bad news?" Harry asked as he worked on the restaurant's books.

"Not precisely."

Harry made a circular motion with one of his hands, indicating Severus should continue.

"How do you feel about little girls?"

"I don't particularly mind little girls. Why?"

"Apparently Alexander Pucey's youngest daughter, Anabelle, did not receive an invitation to Hogwarts on her eleventh birthday."

"She must be devastated." Harry set aside his calculator. "Why is Counselor Pucey telling you this?"

"He would like our assistance in helping her adapt to the Muggle world. Teach her how to live in a world without magic. Get an education, learn a trade...teach her to cook...give her a home."

"He does realize that four magical beings live in this house, doesn't he?"

"We can safely navigate the Muggle world and he can not."

"So in other words, he trusts you and is asking us to foster Anabelle?"

"Yes." Severus wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders. "What do you think?"

"I think Teddy might like a big sister and Mimsey would love someone else to mother. Wait...Pucey actually specified, in writing, he wanted us to teach her how to cook? How odd."

"Personally, I think he's just trying to get my mother's rabbit pie recipe."

And Harry laughed.

~*~*~*~  
FIN  
~*~*~*~

Note: The idea for this story came from both _The Great British Baking Show_ and the novel, _The Art of Baking Blind_. Both the television show and the book featured their bakers creating savory meat pies at one point in the competition. One of the pies described in the book was a rabbit pie, and this little plot "bunny" began to grow from there. 

You can actually make your own soy sauce, but I would imagine it does not smell pleasant during the fermentation process, and that process can take three to six months to complete. The chemical ingredients Harry objects to I actually found listed on the back of a popular American brand of soy sauce - won't be buying that brand ever again.


End file.
